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I am an Englishman, by name Fortescue; eleven years ago, while serving under General Mejia on the patriot side, I fell into the hands of General Griscelli, who deprived me of the sword he now wears, which I received as a present from Señor Carera, whose name you may remember.
And well he might, for there hung at the window a man or the body of one his hands convulsively grasping the magnetized rod, the distorted face pressed against the glass, the lack-lustre eyes wide open, the jaw drooping. In that ghastly visage I recognized the features of Giuseppe Griscelli! "Is he dead, doctor?" asked Mr. Fortescue.
On this, Mejia informed me that the place was a large village and military post, defended by earthworks and block-houses, and that the force commanded by Griscelli consisted of about twenty-five hundred men, of whom about half were regulars, half native auxiliaries. "Has he any artillery?" I asked. "About ten pieces of position, but no field-guns." "And you?" "I have none whatever."
"And have you, an English officer who has fought for Spain, actually sunk so low as to serve with a herd of ruffianly rebels?" "At any rate, General Griscelli, I never deserted to the enemy." The taunt stung him to the quick. Livid with rage he sprung from his chair and placed his hand on his sword. "Do you know that you are in my power?" he exclaimed.
The very turf was aglow; two of the horses had broken loose and were careering madly about; the others were tugging wildly at their lariats. Meanwhile Griscelli and his companions, followed by the hounds, were making desperate haste to get back to the trail and reach the valley of stones. But the road was rough, and in attempting to take short cuts several of them came to grief.
In discussing the incident with Salvador, I expressed surprise that Griscelli should have dared to return to a country where he had committed so many cruelties and made so many enemies. "He left Venezuela the year after you disappeared, and much is forgotten in ten years," was the answer.
To have his well-laid plans thwarted by cowardice and stupidity, the easy victory he had promised himself turned into an ignominious defeat at the very moment when, had his orders been obeyed, the fortunes of the day might have been retrieved all this would have proved a severe trial for a hero or a saint, and certainly Griscelli bore his reverse neither with heroic fortitude nor saintly resignation.
"No; why should I be grateful for a death more terrible than hanging. Kill us at once, and have done with it. You are a disgrace to the noble profession of arms, general, and the time will come " "Another word, and I will throw you to the hounds without further parley," broke in Griscelli, savagely. "Better keep quiet; there is nothing to be gained by roiling him," whispered Carmen.
Griscelli's plan was to occupy the heights with skirmishers, who, hidden behind the trees and bushes, could shoot down the rebels with comparative security. A force of infantry and cavalry would meanwhile take possession of the opening and cut off their retreat. In this way, thought Griscelli, the patriots would either be slaughtered to a man, or compelled to surrender at discretion.
At the end of the first bout neither of us had received a scratch, but Griscelli showed signs of fatigue while I was quite fresh. Also he was very angry and excited, and when we resumed he came at me with more than his former impetuosity, as if he meant to bear me down by the sheer weight and rapidity of his strokes. His favorite attack was a cut aimed at my head.
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